SERMON 4

 

THE PRACTICE OF RELIGION ENFORCED BY REASON. PREACHED AT WESTMINSTERABBEY, 1667.

 

Prov. 10: 9. He that walks uprightly, walks surely.

 

 As it were easy to evince, both from reason and experience, that there is a restless activity in the soul of man, continually disposing it to operate and exert its faculties; so the phrase of Scripture still expresses the life of man by " walking;" that is, it represents an active principle in an active posture. And, because the nature of man carries him thus out to action, it is no wonder if the same nature equally renders him solicitous about the event of his actions For every one, by reflecting upon the way and method of his own workings, will find that he is still determined in them by a respect to the consequence of what he does, always proceeding upon this argumentation: If I do such a thing, such an advantage will follow from it, and therefore I will do it. And, If I do this, such a mischief will ensue thereupon, and therefore I will forbear. Every one, I say, is concluded by this practical discourse; and for a man to bring his actions to the event proposed and designed by him, is to " walk surely." But since the event of an action usually follows the nature or quality of it, and the quality follows the rule directing it, it concerns a man, by all means, in the framing of his actions; not to be deceived in the rule which he proposes for the measure of them; which, without great caution, he may be these two ways 1. By laying false and deceitful principles. 2. In case he lays right principles, yet by mistaking in the consequences which he draws from them.

 

An error in either of which is equally dangerous; for if a man is to draw a line, it is all one, whether he does it by a crooked rule, or by a straight one misapplied. He who fixes upon false principles, treads upon infirm ground and so sinks; and he who fails in his deductions from right principles, stumbles upon firm ground, and so falls; the disaster is not of the same kind, but of the same mischief in both.

 

 It must be confessed, that it is sometimes very hard to judge of the truth or goodness of principles, considered barely in themselves, and abstracted from their consequences. But certainly he acts upon the surest grounds in the world, who, whether the principles which he acts upon prove true or false, yet secures an happy issue to his actions.

 

 Now he who guides his actions by the rules of religion, lays these two principles as the great ground of all that he does: 1: That there is an infinite, eternal, all wise Mind governing the affairs of the world, and taking such an account of the actions of men, as, according to the quality of them, to punish or reward them. 2: That there is an estate of happiness or misery, after this life, allotted to every man, according to the quality of his actions here. These, I say, are the principles which every religious man proposes to himself; and the deduction which he makes from them, is this: That it is his grand interest so to behave in this world, as to secure himself from an estate of misery in the other. And thus to act, is, in the phrase of Scripture, " to walk uprightly;" and it is my business to prove, that be who acts in the strength of this conclusion, drawn from the two forementioned principles, " walks surely," or secures an happy event to his actions, against all contingencies whatsoever.

 

 And to demonstrate this, I shall consider the said principles under a threefold supposition; 1. As certainly true; 2. As probable; and 3. As false. And if the pious man brings actions to a happy end, whichsoever of these suppositions be right, then certainly there is none who " walks so securely" as he who is religious.

 

 1. First therefore we will take these principles (as we may very well do) for certainly true; where, though the method of the present discourse does not engage me to prove them so, but only to show what follows upon a supposal that they are so; yet, to give the greater clearness to the subject, I shall briefly demonstrate them thus

 

 It is necessary, that there should be some first mover; and, if so, a first being: And the first being must infer an infinite, unlimited perfection in the said being; forasmuch as if it were finite or limited, that limitation must have been either from itself, or from something else. But not from itself, since it is contrary to reason and nature, that any being should limit its own perfection; nor yet from something else, since then it should not have been the first, as supposing some other thing coevous to it, which is against the present supposition. So that it being clear, that there must be a first being, and that infinitely perfect, it will follow, that all other perfection that is must be derived from it; and so we infer the creation of the world And then supposing the world created by GOD, (since it is no ways reconcileable to GOD's wisdom, that he should not also govern it,) creation must needs infer Providence: And then, it being granted that GOD governs the world, it will also follow, that he does it by means suitable to the natures of the things he governs, and to the attainment of the proper ends of government. And moreover, man being by nature a free, moral agent, and so, capable of deviating from his duty, as well as performing it, it is, necessary that he should be governed by laws. And since laws require that they be enforced with the sanction of rewards and punishments, sufficient to work upon the minds of such as are to be governed by them: And lastly, Since experience shows that rewards and punishments, terminated only within this life, are not sufficient for that purpose, it follows, that the rewards and punishments, which GOD governs mankind by, do and must look beyond it.

 

 And thus I have given a brief proof of the certain of these principles; namely, that there is a supreme Governor of the world; and that there is a future estate of happiness or misery for men after this life: Which principles, while a man steers his course by, if he acts piously, soberly, and temperately, I suppose there needs no farther arguments to evince, that he acts prudently and safely: For he acts as under the eye of his Judge, who reaches to his creature a command with one hand, and a reward with the other: He spends as a person who knows that he must cone to a reckoning: He sees an eternal happiness or misery suspended upon a few days' behavior, and therefore he lives every hour as for eternity: His future condition has such a powerful influence upon his present practice, because he entertains a continual apprehension, and a firm persuasion of it. If a man walks over a narrow bridge when he is drunk, it is no wonder that he forgets his caution while he overlooks the danger. But he who is sober, and views that nice separation between himself and the devouring deep, so that if he should slip, he sees his grave gaping under him, surely must needs take every step with the utmost caution and solicitude.

 

 But for a man to believe it as the most undoubted certainty in the world, that he shall be judged according to the quality of his actions here, and after judgment receive an eternal recompence, and yet to take his full swing in sin, is it not a greater frenzy than for a man to take a purse at Tyburn, while he is actually seeing another hanged for the same fact It is really to dare and defy justice of Heaven, to laugh at rightaiming thunderbolts, to puff at damnation; and, in a word, to bid Omnipotence do its worst. He, indeed, who thus walks,’" walks surely," but it is because he is sure to be damned.

 

 I confess, it is hard to reconcile such a stupid course to the natural way of the soul's acting; according to which, the will moves according to the proposals of good and evil, made by the understanding: And therefore, for a man to run headlong into the bottomless pit, while conscience assures him that it is bottomless and open, and all return from it desperate and impossible, while his ruin stares him in the face, and the sword of vengeance points at his heart, still to press on to the embraces of his sin, is a problem unresolvable upon any other ground, but that sin infatuates before it destroys. For JUDAS to receive and swallow the sop, when his Master gave it him seasoned with those terrible words, " It had been good for that man that he had never been born:" Surely, this argued a furious appetite and a strong stomach, that could thus catch at a morsel, with the fire and brimstone all flaming about it, and (as it were) digest death itself, and make a meal upon perdition.

 

 I could wish that every bold sinner, when he is about to engage in the commission of any known sin, would arrest his confidence, and for a while stop the execution of his purpose, with this short question:’ Do I believe it is really true, that GOD has denounced death to such a practice, or do I not' If he does not, let him renounce his Christianity, and surrender back his baptism, the water of which might better serve him to cool his tongue in hell, than only to consign him over to the capacity of so black an apostasy. But if he does believe, how will he acquit himself upon the accounts of bare reason For, does he think, that if he pursues the means of death, they will not bring him to that fatal end Or, does he think that be can grapple with divine vengeance, and endure the " everlasting burnings," or arm himself against the bites of the never dying worm No; surely, these are things not to be imagined; and, therefore, I cannot conceive what security the presuming sinner can promise himself, but upon these two following accounts:

 

 (1.) That GOD is merciful, and will not be so severe as his word; and that his threatenings of eternal torments are not so absolute, but that there is a very comfortable latitude left in them for men of skill to creep out at. And here it must indeed be confessed, that ORIGEN, and some others, not long since, who have been so officious as to furbish up and reprint his old errors, hold, that the sufferings of the damned are not to be, in a strict sense, eternal; but that, after a certain period of time, there shall be a general gaol delivery of the souls in prison, and that not for a farther execution, but a final release.

 

 But supposing that a few sinners relieve themselves with such groundless trifling considerations as these, yet may they not, however, fasten a rational hope upon the boundless mercy of GOD, that this may induce him to spare his poor creature, though by sin become obnoxious to his wrath I answer, the divine mercy is indeed large, and far surpassing all created measures; yet, nevertheless, it has its proper time; and after this life it is the time of justice; and to hope for the favors of mercy then, is to expert ,*, has cast all his works into a certain inviolable order; according to which, " there is a time to pardon, and a time to punish;" and the time of the one is not the time of the other. When corn has once felt the sickle, it has no more benefit from the sunshine. But,

 

 (2.) If the conscience be too apprehensive to venture the final issue of things, upon a fond persuasion, that the great Judge of the world will not execute the sentence pronounced by him; as if he had threatened men with hell, rather to fright them from sin, than with an intent to punish them for it; I say, if the conscience cannot find any satisfaction or support from such reasonings as these, yet may it not at least relieve itself with the purposes of a future repentance, notwithstanding its present violations of the law I answer, that this certainly is a confidence, of all others, the most ungrounded and irrational: For upon what ground can a man promise himself a future repentance, who cannot promise himself a futurity Whose life depends upon his breath, and is so restrained to the present, that it cannot secure to_ itself the reversion of the very next minute Have not many died with the guilt of impenitence, and the designs of repentance together If a man die today, by the prevalence of some ill humors, will it avail him that he intended to have bled and purged tomorrow

 

 But how dares sinful dust and ashes invade the prerogative of Providence, and carve out to himself the seasons and issues of life and death, which the FATHER keeps wholly within his own power How does that man who thinks he sins securely, under the shelter of some remote purposes of amendment, know, but that the decree above may be already passed against him, and his allowance of mercy spent; so that the " bow in the clouds" is now drawn, and the arrow levelled at his head; and not many days like to pass, but perhaps an apoplexy, or an imposthume, or some sudden disaster may stop his breath, and reap him down as a sinner ripe for destruction

 

 I conclude therefore., that upon supposition of the certain truth of the principles of religion, he who " walks not uprightly," has neither from the presumption of GOD'S mercy reversing the decree of his justice, nor from his own purposes of a future repentance, any sure ground to set his foot upon; but in this whole course acts as directly in contradiction to nature, as he does in defiance of grace. In a word, he is besotted, and has lost his reason; and what then can there be for religion to take hold of him by

 

 2. Come we now' to the Second supposition; under which we show, that the principles of religion, laid down by us, might be considered; and that is, as only probable. Where we must observe, that probability does not properly make any alteration, either in the truth or falsity of things; but only imports a different degree of their clearness, or appearance to the understanding. So that that is to be accounted probable, which has more or better arguments producible for it, than can be brought against it; and surely such a thing, at least, is religion. For certain it is, that religion is universal; I mean, the first rudiments and general notions of religion, called natural religion, and consisting in the acknowledgment of a Deity, and of the common principles of morality, and a future estate of souls after death. This notion of religion has diffused itself in some degree or other, as far as human nature extends: So that there is no nation in the world, though plunged into never so gross idolatry, but has some awful sense of a Deity, and a persuasion of a state of retribution to men after this life.

 

 But now, if there are really no such things, but all is a mere he and a fable, contrived only to chain up the liberty of man's nature from a freer enjoyment of those things, which otherwise it would have as full a right to enjoy as to breathe: I demand whence this persuasion could thus come to be universal For was it ever known, in any other instance, that the whole world was brought to conspire in the belief of a lie Nay, and of such a lie, as should lay upon men such unpleasing abridgments, tying them up from a full gratification of those lusts and appetites, which they so impatiently desire to satisfy, and consequently, by all means, to remove those impediments that might any way obstruct their satisfaction Since, therefore, it cannot be made out, upon any principle of reason, how all the nations in the world, otherwise so distant in situation, manners, interests, and inclination, should, by design or combination, meet in one persuasion; and withal, that men, who so mortally hate to be deceived and imposed upon, should yet suffer themselves to be deceived by such a persuasion as is false; and not only false, but also cross and contrary to their strongest desires; so that if it were false, they would set the utmost force of their reason on work to discover that falsity, and thereby disenthral themselves: And farther, since there is nothing false, but what may be proved to be so: And yet, Lastly, Since all the power and industry of man's mind, has not been hitherto able to prove a falsity in the principles of religion, it irrefragably follows that religion is, at least, a very high probability.

 

 And this is that which I here contend for, that it is not necessary to the obliging men to believe religion to be true, that this truth be made out to their reason, by arguments demonstratively certain; but that it is sufficient to render their unbelief unexcusable, even upon the account of bare reason, if the truth of religion carry in it a much greater probability than any of those reasonings that pretend the contrary: And this I prove in the strength of these two considerations:

 

 (1.) That no man, in matters of this life, requires an assurance either of the good which he designs, or of the evil which he avoids, from arguments demonstratively certain; but judges himself to have sufficient ground to act upon, from a probable persuasion of the event of things. No man, who first traffics into a foreign country, has any scientific evidence, that there is such a country, but by report, which can produce no more than a moral certainty; that is, a very high probability, and such as there can be no reason to except against. He who has a probable belief, that he shall meet with thieves in such a road, thinks himself to have reason enough to decline it, albeit he is sure to sustain some inconvenience by his so doing. But, perhaps, it may be replied, (and it is all that can be replied,) that a greater assurance and evidence is required of the things of the other world, than of the interests of this. To which I answer, that assurance and evidence have no place here, as being contrary to our present supposition; according to which, we are now treating of the practical principles of religion only as probable. And for this, I affirm, that where the case is about the hazarding an eternal or a temporal concern, there a less degree of probability ought to engage our caution against the loss of the former, than is necessary to engage it about preventing the loss of the latter. Forasmuch, as where things are least to be put to the venture, as the eternal interests of the other world ought to be; there every, even the least probability of danger should be provided against; but where the loss can be but temporal, every small probability of it need not put us so anxiously to prevent it, since, though it should happen, the loss might be repaired; or, if not, could not, however, destroy us, by reaching us in our highest concern, which no temporal thing whatsoever is or can be.

 

 (a.) And this directly introduces the Second consideration or argument, viz. That bare reason, discoursing upon a principle of selfpreservation, (the fundamental principle which nature proceeds by,) will oblige a man voluntarily to undergo any less evil, to secure himself but from the probability of an evil incomparably greater, and that also, such an one, as, if that probability passes into a certain event, admits of no reparation by any afterremedy.

 

 Now, that religion, teaching a future estate of souls, is a probability, and that its contrary cannot with equal probability be proved, we have already evinced. This, therefore, being supposed, we will suppose yet farther, that for a man to abridge himself in the full satisfaction of his appetites and inclinations, is an evil, because a present pain and trouble: But then it must likewise be granted, that nature must needs abhor a state of eternal pain and misery much more; and that if a man does not undergo the former less evil, it is highly probable that such an eternal estate of misery will be his portion: And if so, I would know whether that man takes a rational course to preserve himself, who refuses the endurance of these lesser troubles, to secure himself from a condition inconceivably more

 

miserable.

 

 But since probability, in the nature of it, supposes that a thing may, or may not be so, for any thing that yet appears or is certainly determined on either side; we will here consider both sides of this probability: As,

 

 1. That it is possible, there may be no such thing as future happiness or misery, for those who have lived well or ill here; and then he, who, upon the strength of a contrary belief, abridged himself in the gratification of his appetites, sustains only this evil, viz. that he did not please his senses and unbounded desires so much as otherwise he might, and would have done, had he not lived under the check of such a belief. This is the utmost which he suffers.

 

 But whether this be a real evil or no, (whatsoever vulgar minds may think,) shall be discoursed of afterwards. But then again, on the other side, it is probable there will be such a future estate; and then, how miserable is the voluptuous sensual unbeliever! For there can be no retreat for him then, no mending of his choice in the other world, no aftergame to be played in hell. It fares with men in reference to their future estate, and the condition upon which they must pass to it, much as it does with a merchant, having a vessel richly fraught at sea in a storm the storm grows higher and higher, and threatens the utter loss of the ship; but there is one, and but one certain way to save it, which is, by throwing its rich lading overboard; yet still, for all this, the man knows not but possibly the storm may cease, and so all be preserved; however, in the mean time, there is little or no probability that it will do so; and it case it should not, he is then assured, that he must lay his life, as well as his rich commodities, in the cruel deep. Now, in this case, would this man think we act rationally, should he, upon the slender possibility of escaping otherwise, neglect the sure infallible preservation of his life, by casting away his rich goods No, certainly, it would be so far from it, that should the storm, by a strange hap, cease immediately after he has thus thrown away his riches; yet the throwing them away was infinitely more rational and eligible, than the retaining them could have been.

 

 For a man, while he lives here, to doubt whether there be any hell or no, and thereupon to live so, as if absolutely there were none; but when he dies, to find himself confuted in the flames; this, surely, mast be the height of woe and disappointment, and a bitter conviction of an irrational venture, and an absurd choice. In doubtful cases, reason still determines for the safer side; especially if the case be not only doubtful, but also highly concerning, and the venture be of a soul, and an eternity. He who sat at a table, richly and deliciously furnished, but with a sword hanging over his head by one single thread, surely had enough to check his appetite, even against all the raging of hunger and temptations of sensuality. The only argument that could any way encourage his appetite was, that possibly the sword might not fall: but when his reason should encounter it with another question, What if it should fall And moreover, that pitiful stay by which it hung should oppose the likelihood that it would, to a mere possibility of that it might not what could the man enjoy or taste of his rich banquet, with all this doubt and horror working in his mind

 

 Though a man's condition should be really in itself never so safe, yet an apprehension and surmise that it is not safe, is enough to make a quick and a tender reason sufficiently miserable. Let the most acute and learned unbeliever demonstrate that there is no hell; and if he can, he sins so much the more rationally, otherwise if he cannot, the case remains doubtful at least: But he who sins obstinately, does not act as if it were so much as doubtful; for if it were certain and evident to sense, he could do no more; but for a man to found a confident practice upon a disputable principle, is brutishly to outrun his reason, and to build ten times wider than his foundation. In a word, I look upon this one short consideration, (were there no more,) as a sufficient ground for any rational man to take

 

up his religion upon, and which I defy the subtlest Atheist in the world solidly to answer or confute; namely, that it is good to be sure.

 

 3. And so I proceed to the Third and last supposition; under which the principles of religion may, for argument's sake, be considered; and that is, as false; which surely must reach the thoughts of any Atheist whatsoever. Nevertheless, even upon this account also, I doubt not but to evince, that he who walks uprightly walks much more surely than the wicked and profane liver; and that with reference to the most valued temporal enjoyments, such as are, reputation, quietness, health, and the like, which are the greatest which this life affords, or is desirable for. And,

 

 1. For reputation or credit. Is any one had in greater esteem than the just person, who has given the world an assurance, by the constant tenor of his practice, that he makes a conscience of his ways; that he scorns to do an unworthy or a base thing, to lie, to defraud, to undermine another's interest by sinister arts And is there any thing which reflects a greater lustre upon a man's person, than a severe temperance and a restraint of himself from vicious and unlawful pleasures Does any thing shine so bright as virtue, and that even in the eyes of those who are void of it For hardly shall you find any one so bad, but he desires the credit of being thought what his vice will not let him be So great a pleasure and convenience is it, to live with honor and a fair acceptance amongst those whom we converse with: And a being without it, is not life, but rather the skeleton, or caput mortum of lafe; like time without day, or day itself without the shining of the sun to enliven it.

 

 On the other side, Is there any thing that more embitters the enjoyments of this life, than just shame and reproach Yet this is generally the lot of the impious and irreligious, and of some of them more especially. For how infamous, in the first place, is the false, fraudulent, and unconscionable person! And how quickly is his character known! For hardly ever did any man of no conscience continue a man of any credit long. Likewise, how odious, as well as infamous, is such an one! especially if he be arrived at that consummate degree of falsehood, to play in and out, and show tricks with oaths, the sacredest bonds which the conscience of man can be bound with. So that let never so much honor be placed upon him, it cleaves not to him, but forthwith ceases to be honor, by being so placed; no preferment can sweeten him, but the higher he stands, the farther and wider he stinks.

 

 To go over all the several kinds of vice and wickedness, should we set aside the considerations of the glories of a better world, and allow this life for the only place and scene of man's happiness; yet surely CATO will be always more honorable than CLODIUS, and CICERO than CATALINE. Fidelity, justice, and temperance, will always draw their own reward after them, or rather carry it with them, in those marks of honor which they fix upon the persons who practice and pursue them. It is said of DAVID, in 1 Chron. 29: 28, " that he died full of days, riches, and honor;" and there was no need of an heaven to render him, in all respects, a much happier man than SAUL.

 

 But, in the Second place, the religious person walks upon surer grounds than the vicious and irreligious, in respect of the ease, peace, and quietness, which he enjoys in this world; and which, certainly, make no small part of human felicity. For anxiety and labor are great ingredients of that curse which sin has entailed upon fallen man. Care and toil came into the world with sin, and remain ever since inseparable from it, both as to its punishment and effect.

 

 The service of sin is perfectly slavery; and he who will pay obedience to the commands of it, shall find it an unreasonable taskmaster and an unmeasurable exactor. And to represent the case of some particulars. The ambitious person must rise early, and sit up late, and pursue his design with a constant indefatigable attendance; he must be infinitely patient and servile, and obnoxious to all the cross humors of those whom he expects to rise by. He must endure and digest all sorts of affronts, adore the foot that kicks him, and kiss the hand that strikes him; while, in the mean time, the humble and contented man is virtuous at a much easier rate: His virtue bids him sleep, and take his rest, while the other's restless sin bids him sit up and watch: He pleases himself innocently and easily, while the ambitious man attempts to please others sinfully and difficultly, and perhaps, in the issue, unsuccessfully too.

 

 The robber and the man of rapine must run, and ride, and use all the dangerous, and even desperate, ways of escape; and probably, after all, his sin betrays him to a gaol, and from thence advances him to the gibbet: But let him carry off his booty with as much safety and success as he can wish, yet the innocent person, with never so little of his own, envies him not; and, if he has nothing, fears him not.

 

 Likewise the cheat, and fraudulent person, is put to a thousand shifts to palliate his fraud, and to be thought an honest man: But surely, there can be no greater labor, than to be always dissembling, and forced to maintain a constant disguise, there being so many ways by which a smothered truth is apt to blaze and break out; the very nature of things making it not more natural for them to be, than to appear as they be. But he who will be really honest, just, and sincere in his dealings, needs take no pains to be thought so, no more than the sun need take any pains to shine, or, when he is up, to convince the world that it is day.

 

And here again, to bring in the man of luxury and intemperance for his share in the pain and trouble, as well as in the forementioned shame and infamy of his vice. Can any toil or day labor equal the fatigue or drudgery which such an one undergoes, while he is continually pouring in draught after draught, and cramming in morsel after morsel, and that in spite of appetite and nature, till he becomes a burden to the very earth that bears him; though not so great an one to that, but that (if possible) he is yet a greater to himself

 

 In the Third and last place, the religious person walks upon surer grounds than the irreligious, in respect of the very health of his body. Virtue is a friend, and an help to nature, but vice and luxury destroy it, and the diseases of intemperance are the natural product of the sins of intemperance. Whereas, on the other side, a temperate, innocent use of the creature never casts any one into a fever or a surfeit. Chastity makes no work for a Surgeon, nor ever ends in " rottenness of bones." Sin is the fruitful parent of distempers, and ill lives, occasion good Physicians. Seldom shall one see in cities, courts, and rich families, (where men live plentifully, and cat and drink freely,) that perfect health, that athletic soundness and vigor of constitution, which is commonly seen in the country, in poor houses and cottages, where nature is their cook, and necessity their caterer, and where they have no other Doctor, but the sun and the fresh air, and that such an one as never sends them to the Apothecary. It has been observed in the earlier ages of the church, that none lived such healthful and long lives as Monks and Hermits, who had sequestered themselves from the pleasures and plenties of the world to a constant course of the severest abstinence and devotion. Nor is excess the only thing by which sin breaks men in their health, and the comfortable enjoyment of themselves thereby, but many are also brought to a very ill and languishing habit of body, by mere idleness; and idleness is both itself a great sin, and the cause of many more. The husbandman returns from the field, and from manuring his ground, strong and healthy, because innocent and laborious; you will find no diet drinks, no boxes of pills, nor galley pots, amongst his provisions; no, he neither speaks nor lives' French, he is not so much a gentleman forsooth. His meals are coarse and short, his employment warrantable, his sleep certain and refreshing, neither interrupted with the lashes of a guilty mind, nor the aches of a crazy body: And when old age comes upon him, it comes alone, bringing no other evil with it but itself: But when it comes to wait upon a great and worshipful sinner, (who for many years together has had the reputation of eating well and doing ill,) it comes, (as it ought to do, to a person of such quality,) attended with a long train and retinue of rheums, coughs, catarrhs, and dropsies, together with many painful girds and achings, which are, at last, called the gout. How does such an one go about, or is carried rather, with his body bending inward, his head shaking, and his eyes always watering, (instead of weeping,) for the sins of his illspent youth! In a word, old age seizes upon such a person, like fire upon a rotten house; it was rotten before, and must have fallen of itself; so that it is but one ruin preventing another.

 

 And thus I have shown the fruits and effects of sin upon men in this world. But peradventure it will be replied, that there are many sinners who escape all these calamities, and neither labor under any shame or disrepute, any unquietness of condition, or more than ordinary distemper of body, but pass their days with as great a portion of honor, ease, and health, as any other men whatsoever. But to this I answer, 

 

 First, That those sinners, who are in such a temporally happy condition, owe it not to their sins, but wholly to a benign chance that they are so. Providence often disposes of things by a method beside and above the discourses of man's reason.

 

 Secondly, That the number of those sinners who, by their sins, have been directly plunged into all the forementioned evils, is incomparably greater than the number of those who, by the singular favor of Providence, have escaped them. And,

 

 Lastly, That, notwithstanding all this, sin has in itself a natural tendency to bring men under these evils; and, if persisted in, will infallibly end in them, unless hindered by some unusual accident, which no man, acting rationally, can build upon. It is not impossible, but a man may practice a sin secretly to his dying day; but it is ten thousand to one if the practice be constant, but that, some time or other, it will be discovered; and then the effect of sin discovered, must be shame and confusion to the sinner. It is possible also that a man may be an old healthful Epicure; but I affirm also that it is next to a miracle, and the like is to be said of the several instances of sin, hitherto produced by us. In short, nothing can step between them and misery in this world, but a very great, strange, and unusual chance, which none will presume of who " walk surely."

 

 And so, I suppose, that religion cannot possibly be enforced, (even in the judgment of its best friends and most professed enemies,) by any farther arguments than what have been produced. For I have shown, that whether the principles of it. be certain, or but probable, nay, though supposed absolutely false; yet a man is sure of that happiness in the practice, which he cannot be in the neglect of it; and consequently, that though he were really a speculative Atheist, yet if he would but proceed rationally, that is, if (according to his own measures of reason) he would but love himself, he could not, however, be a practical Atheist; nor live a without God in this world," whether or no he expected to be rewarded by him in another.

 

 And now, to make some application of the foregoing discourse, we may, by an easy but sure deduction, gather from it these two things:

 

 1. That profane, atheistical, epicurean rabble whom the whole nation so rings of, and who have lived so much to the defiance of GOD, the dishonor of, mankind, and the disgrace of the age which they are cast upon, are not, (what they are pleased to think and vote themselves,) the wisest men in the world; for in matters of choice, no man can be wise in any course or practice in which he is not safe too. But can these high assumers and pretenders to reason prove themselves so, amidst all those liberties and latitudes of practice which they take Can they make it out against the common sense of all mankind, that there is no such thing as a future estate of misery for such as have lived ill here Or, can they persuade themselves, that their own particular reason denying, or doubting of it, ought to be relied upon, as a surer argument of truth, than the universal reason of all the world besides affirming it Every fool may believe, and pronounce confidently; but wise men will, in matters of discourse, conclude firmly, and, in matters of practice, act surely: And, if these will do so too in the case now before us, they must prove it not only probable, (which yet they can never do,) but also certain, and past all doubt, that there is no hell, nor place of torment for the wicked; or, at least, that they themselves, notwithstanding all their licentious practices, are not to be reckoned of that number.

 

 In the mean time, it cannot but be matter of just indignation to all knowing and good men, to see a company of lewd, shallow brained huffs making contempt of religion the sole badge and character of wit, gallantry, and true discretion; and then, over their pots and pipes, claiming and engrossing all these to themselves; magisterially censuring the wisdom of all antiquity, scoffing at all piety, and (as it were) new modelling the whole world. When yet, such as have had opportunity to sound these braggers thoroughly, by having sometimes endured the penance of their company, have found them in converse so empty and insipid, in discourse so trifling and contemptible, that it is impossible but that they should give a credit and an honor to whatsoever and whomsoever they speak against: They are, indeed, such as seem wholly incapable of entertaining any design above the present gratification of their palates, and whose very soul and thoughts rise no higher than their throats; but yet withal, of such a clamorous and provoking impiety, that they are enough to make the nation like Sodom and Gomorrah in their punishment, as they have already made it too like them in their sins. Certain it is that blasphemy and irreligion have grown to that daring height here of late years, that had men in any sober, civilized Heathen nation, spoken or done half so much in contempt of their false Gods and religion, as some in our days and nation, wearing the name of Christians, have spoken and done against GOD and CHRIST, they would have been infallibly burnt at a stake, as monsters and public enemies of society.

 

But, for all this, let Atheists and sensualists satisfy themselves as they are able. The former of which will find,.that as long as reason keeps her ground, religion neither can, nor will lose hers. And for the sensual epicure, he also will find, that there is a certain living spark within him, which all the drink he can pour in, will never be able to quench; nor will his rotten abused body have it in its power to convey any putrefying, consuming, rotting quality to the soul: No, there is no drinking or swearing, or ranting or fluxing a soul out of its immortality. But that must and will survive and abide, in spite of death and the grave; and live for ever, to convince such wretches, to their eternal woe, that the so much repeated ornament of their former speeches, (GOD damn’em,) was commonly the truest word they spoke, though least believed by them, while they spoke it.

 

 2. The other thing deducible from the foregoing particulars, shall be to inform us of the way of attaining to that excellent privilege, so justly valued by those who have it, and so much talked of by those who have it not; which is, assurance. Assurance is properly that persuasion or confidence, which a man takes up of the pardon of his sins, and his interest in GOD's favor, upon such grounds and terms, as the Scripture lays down. But now since the Scripture promises eternal happiness and pardon of sin, upon the sole condition of faith, producing sincere obedience, it is evident, that he only can plead a title to this who performs the required condition.

 

 Obedience and “upright walking" are such substantial, vital parts of religion, as, if they be wanting, can never be made up, or commuted for by any formalities of fantastic looks or language. And the great question, when we come hereafter to be judged, will not be, How demurely have you looked With what length have you prayed and, With what loudness and vehemence have you preached but, How holily have you lived and, How uprightly have you walked For this, and this only (through the merits of CHRIST's righteousness) will come into account, before that great Judge, who will pass sentence upon every man 41 according to what he has done here in the flesh, whether it be good, or whether it be evil; and there is no respect of persons with him."

 

SERMON 5

 

OF FRIENDSHIP.

 

PREACHED BEFORE THE UNIVERSITY, AT CHRISTCHURCH, OXFORD, 1664.

 

JOHN 15:15.

 

 Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knows not what his Lord does: But I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my FATHER, have I made known unto you.

 

 WE HAVE here an account of CHRIST'S friendship to his disciples; that is, we have the best of things represented in the greatest of examples. In other men we see the excellency, but in CHRIST the divinity of friendship. By our baptism and church communion, we are made one body with CHRIST; but by this we become one soul.

 

 Love is the greatest of human affections, and friendship is the noblest and most refined improvement of love; a quality of the largest compass. And here it is admirable to observe the ascending gradation of the love which CHRIST bore to his disciples. The strange and superlative greatness of which will appear from those several degrees of kindness that it has manifested to man, in the several periods of his condition. As,

 

 1. If we consider him antecedently to his creation, while he yet lay in the barren womb of nothing, and consequently could have nothing to recommend him to CHRIST's affection, nor show any thing lovely but what he should afterwards receive from the stamp of a preventing love. Yet even then did the love of CHRIST begin to work, and to commence in the first emanations and purposes of goodness towards men; designing to provide matter for itself to work upon, to create its own object, and like the sun, in the production of some animals, first to give a being, and then to shine upon it.

 

 2. Let us take the love of CHRIST as directing itself to man actually created, and brought into the world; and so all those glorious endowments of human nature, in its original state and innocence, were so many demonstrations of the munificent goodness of Him, " by whom GOD first made," as well as afterwards " redeemed the world." There was a consultation of the whole Trinity for the making of man, that so he might shine as a masterpiece, not only of the art, but also of the kindness of his Creator; with a noble and a clear understanding, a rightly disposed will, and a train of affections regular and obsequious, and perfectly conformable to the dictates of that high and divine principle, right reason. son. So that, upon the whole matter, he stept forth, not only the work of GOD's hands, but also the copy of his perfections; a kind of image, or representation, of the Deity in small; infinitely contracted into flesh and blood; and (as I may so speak) the preludium and first essay towards the incarnation of the divine nature. But,

 

 3. And lastly, Let us look upon man, not only as created, and brought into the world, with all these great advantages superadded to his being; but also, as deprived and fallen from them, as an outlaw, and a rebel, and one that could plead a title to nothing, but to the highest severities of a sin revenging justice: Yet in this estate also, the boundless love of CHRIST began to have warm thoughts and actions towards so wretched a creature, at this time not only not amiable, but highly odious. While indeed man was yet uncreated and unborn, though he had no positive perfectidn to present, and set him off to CHRIST'S view, yet he was at least negatively clear: And, like unwritten paper, though it has no draughts to entertain, yet neither has it any blots to offend the eye, but is white, and innocent, and fair for an after incription. But man, once fallen, was nothing but a great blur, nothing but a total universal pollution, and not to be reformed by any thing under a new creation.

 

 Yet see here the ascent and progress of CHRIST'S love For first, if we consider man in such a loathsome and provoking condition, was it not love enough that he was spared and permitted to enjoy a being Since, not to put a traitor to death is a singular mercy. But then, not only to continue his being, but to adorn it with privilege, and from the number of subjects to take him into the retinue of servants, this was yet a greater love. For every one that may be fit to be tolerated in a Prince's dominions, is not therefore fit to be admitted into his family; nor is any Prince's court to be commensurate to his kingdom. But then farther, to advance him from a servant to a friend, from only living in his house to lying in his bosom, this is an instance of favor above the rate of a created goodness, an act for none but the SON of GOD, who came to do every thing in miracle, to love supernaturally, and to pardon infinitely, and even to lay down the Sovereign, while he assumed the Savior.

 

 The text speaks the winning behavior, and gracious condescension of CHRIST to his disciples, in owning them for his friends, who were more than sufficiently honored by being his servants. For still these words of his must be understood, not according to the bare rigor of the letter, but according to the allowances of expression: Not as if the relation of friends had actually discharged them from that of servants; but that of the two relations, CHRIST was pleased to overlook the meaner, and without any mention of that, to entitle and denominate them solely from the more honorable.

 

 For the farther illustration of which, we must premise this, as a certain and fundamental truth,, that so far as service imports duty and subjection, all created beings, whether men or angels, bear the necessary and essential relation of servants to GOD, and consequently to CHRIST, who is " GOD blessed for ever:" And this relation is so necessary, that GOD himself cannot dispense with it, nor discharge a rational creature from it; for although consequentially indeed he may do so, by the annihilation of such a creature, and the taking away his being; yet, supposing the continuance of his being, GOD cannot effect, that a creature which has his being from, and his dependence upon him, should not stand obliged to do him the utmost service that his nature enables him to do. For, to suppose the contrary, would be opposite to the law of nature, which, consisting in a fixed unalterable relation of one nature to another, is, upon that account, even by GOD himself, indispensable: Forasmuch as having once made a creature, he cannot cause that that creature should not owe a natural relation to his Maker, both of subjection and dependence, (the very essence of a creature importing so much,) to which relation if he behaves himself unsuitably, he goes contrary to his nature, and the laws of it; which GOD, the Author of nature, cannot warrant without being contrary to himself. From all which it follows, that even in our highest estate of sanctity and privilege, we yet retain the unavoidable obligation of CHRIST'S servants, though still with an advantage as great as the obligation, where the " service is perfect freedom:" So that with reference to such a LORD, to serve, and to be free, are terms not consistent only, but absolutely equivalent.

 

 Nevertheless, since the name of servants has of old been reckoned to imply a certain meanness of mind, as well as lowness of condition, and the ill qualities of many who served, have rendered the condition itself not very creditable; especially in those ages and places of the world, in which the condition of servants was extremely different from what it is now amongst us; they being generally slaves, and such as were bought and sold for money, and consequently reckoned but amongst the other goods and chattels of their lord or master: It was for this reason that CHRIST thought fit to waive the appellation of servant here, as, according to

 

the common use of it amongst the Jews, (and, that time, most nations besides. ) importing these three qualifications, which, being directly contrary to the spirit of Christianity, were by no means to be allowed in any of CHRIST'S disciples.

 

 1. The first whereof is that here mentioned in the text, viz, an utter unacquaintance with his master's designs; " The servant knows not what his Lord does." For seldom does any man of sense make his servant his counsellor, for fear of making him his governor too. A master for the most part keeps his choicest goods locked up from his servant, but much more his mind. A servant is to know nothing but his master's commands; and in these also not to know the reason of them.

 

Neither is he to stand aloof from his counsels only, but sometimes from his presence also; and so far as decency is duty, it is sometimes his duty to avoid him. But the voice of CHRIST in his Gospel is, " Come to me, all ye that are heavy laden." The condition of servant staves him off to a distance; but the Gospel speaks nothing but allurement, attractives and invitation. The magisterial Law bids the person under it, " Go; and he must go:' But the Gospel says to every believer, " Come, and he cometh." A servant dwells remote from all knowledge of his Lord's purposes; he lives as a kind of foreigner under the same roof; a domestic, and yet a stranger too.

 

 2. The name of servant imports a slavish awe of mind; as it is in Rom. 8: 5. " GOD has not given us the spirit of bondage again to fear." He who serves has still the low and ignoble restraints of dread upon his spirit; which in business, and even in the midst of action, cramps and ties up his activity. He fears his master's anger, but designs not his favor. " Quicken me (says DAVID) with thy free SPIRIT." It is the freedom of the spirit that gives worth and life to the performance. But a servant is commonly less free in mind than in condition; his very will seems to be in bonds and shackles, and desire itself under a kind of durance and captivity. In all that a servant does he is scarce a voluntary agent, but when he serves him self: All his services otherwise not flowing naturally from inclination, but being drawn and forced from him. In any work he is put to, let the master withdraw his eye, and he will quickly take off his hand.

 

 3. The appellation of a servant imports a mercenary temper, and denotes such an one as makes his reward both the motive and measure of his obedience. He neither loves the thing commanded, nor the person who commands it, but is wholly intent upon his own emolument. All that is given him over and above what is strictly just and his due, makes him rather worse than better. A servant rarely ascribes what he receives to the mere liberality of the donor, but to his own worth and merit, and to the need which he supposes there is of him; which opinion alone will be sure to make any one of a mean servile spirit insolent and intolerable.

 

And thus I have shown what the qualities of a servant usually are, (or at least were in that country where our SAVIOR lived and conversed when he spoke these words,) which, no doubt, were the cause why he would not treat his Disciples (whom he designed to be of a quite contrary disposition) with this appellation.

 

Come we therefore now in the next place to show, what is included in that great character and privilege which he was pleased to vouchsafe both to them and to all believers, in calling and accounting them his friends. It includes in it (I conceive) these following things:

 

 1. Freedom of access. House and heart, and all are open for the reception of a friend. The entrance is not beset with solemn excuses and lingering delays; but the passage is easy and free from all obstruction, and not only admits, but even invites the comer. How different, for the most part, is the same man from himself, as he sustains the person of a magistrate, and as he sustains that of a friend As a magistrate or great officer, he locks himself up from all approaches by the multiplied formalities of attendance, by the distance of ceremony and grandeur; so many hungry officers to be passed through, so many thresholds to be saluted, so many days to be spent in waiting for an opportunity of, perhaps, but half an hour's converse. 

 

 But when he is to be entertained, whose friendship, not whose business, demands an entrance, those formalities presently disappear, all impediments vanish, and the rigors of the magistrate submit to the endearments of a friend. He opens and yields himself to the man of business with difficulty and reluctancy, but offers himself to the visits of a friend with facility. The reception of one is as different from the admission of the other, as when the earth falls open under the incisions of the plough, and when it gapes and greedily opens itself to drink in the dew of heaven, or the refreshments of a shower: Or there is as much difference’ between them, as when a man reaches out his arms to take up a burden, and when he reaches them out to embrace.

 

 It is confessed, that the vast distance that sin had put between the offending creature, and the offended Creator, required the help of some great umpire and intercessor, to open him a new way of access to GOD; and this CHRIST did for us as a Mediator. But we read of no mediator to bring us to CHRIST; for though, being GOD by nature, he dwells in the height of Majesty, and the inaccessible glories of a Deity, yet to keep off all strangeness between himself and the sons of men, he has condescended to a cognation and consanguinity with us, he has clothed himself with flesh and blood, that so he might subdue his glories to a possibility of human converse. And therefore, he that denies himself an immediate access to CHRIST, affronts him in the great relation of a friend, and as opening himself both to our persons and to our wants, with the greatest tenderness, and the freest invitation. There is none who acts a friend by a deputy, or can be familiar by proxy.

 

 2. The second privilege of friendship is a favorable construction of all passages between friends, that are not of so high and so malign a nature as to dissolve the relation. “Love covers a multitude of sins," says the Apostle. (1 Pet. 4: 8.) When a scar cannot be taken away, the next kind office is to hide it. Love is never so blind as when it is to spy faults. It is like the painter, who being to draw the picture of a friend having a blemish in one eye, would picture only the other side of his face. It is a noble, and a great thing to cover the blemishes, and to excuse the failings of a friend; to draw a curtain• before his stains, and to display his perfections; to bury his weaknesses in silence, but to proclaim his virtues upon the housetop. It is an imitation of the charities of heaven, which, when the creature lies prostrate in the weakness of sleep and weariness, spreads the covering of night and darkness over it, to conceal it in that condition: But as soon as our spirits are refreshed, and nature returns to its morning vigor, GOD then bids the sun rise, and the day shine upon us, both to advance and to show that activity.

 

 It is the ennobling office of the understanding, to correct the fallacious and mistaken reports of sense, and to assure us that the staff in the water is straight, though our eye would tell us it is crooked. So it is the excellency of friendship to rectify the malignity of those surmises, that would misrepresent a friend, and traduce him in our thoughts. Am I told that my friend has done me an injury, or that he has committed any indecent action Why, the first debt that I both owe to his friendship, and that he may challenge from mine, is rather to question the truth of the report, than presently to believe my friend unworthy. Or, if matter of fact breaks out and blazes with too great an evidence to be denied, or so much as doubted of; why, still there are other lenitives that friendship will apply, before it will be brought to the rigors of a condemning sentence. A friend will be sure to act the part of an advocate, before he will assume that of a judge. And there are few actions so ill (unless they are of a very black tincture indeed) but will admit of some extenuation, at least from those common topics of human frailty; such

 

as are ignorance, inadvertency, passion or surprise, company or solicitation; with many other such things, which may go a great way towards excusing the agent, though they cannot absolutely justify the action. All which apologies for, and alleviations of faults, though they are the heights of humanity, yet they are not the favors, but the duties of friendship. Charity itself commands us, where we know no ill, to think well of all: But friendship, that always goes a pitch higher, gives a man a peculiar right and claim to the good opinion of his friend. And, if we justly look upon a proneness to find faults, as a very ill thing, we are to remember, that a proneness to believe them is next to it.

 

 We have seen here the demeanor of friendship between Lord and man: But how is it, think we now, between CHRIST and the soul that depends upon him Is he any ways short in these offices of tenderness and mitigation No, assuredly; but by infinite degrees superior. For where our heart does but relent, his melts; where our eye pities, his bowels yearn. How many frowardnesses of ours does, he smother, how many indignities does he pass by, and how many affronts does he put up with at our hands, because his love is invincible, and his friendship unchangeable! He rates every action, every sinful infirmity, with the allowances of mercy; and never weighs the sin,, but together with it he weighs the force of the inducement; how much of it is to be attributed to choice, how much to the violence of the temptation, to the stratagem of the occasion, and the yielding frailties of weak nature!

 

 Should we try men at that rate that we try CHRIST, we should quickly find that the largest stock of human friendship would be too little for us to spend long upon. But his compassion follows us with an infinite supply. He is GOD in his friendship as well as in his nature, and therefore we sinful creatures are not taken upon advantages, nor consumed in our provocations. See this exemplified in his behavior to his disciples, while he was yet upon earth: How ready was he to excuse and cover their infirmities! At the last and bitterest scene of his life, when he was so full of agony and horror, and so had most need of the refreshments of society, and the friendly assistance of his disciples; and when also he desired no more of them, but only for a while to sit up and pray with him: Yet they, like persons wholly untouched with his agonies, and unmoved with his passionate entreaties, forget both his and their own cares, and securely sleep away all concern for him, or themselves either. Now what a fierce reprehension may we imagine this would have drawn from the friendships of the world; and yet what a gentle one did it receive from CHRIST! (Matt. 26: 4O.) No more than, " What! could _you not watch with me one hour" And when from this admonition they took only occasion to redouble their fault, and to sleep again, so that upon a second and third admonition they had nothing to plead for their unseasonable drowsiness, yet then CHRIST, who was the only person concerned to have resented and aggravated this their unkindness, finds an extenuation for it, when they themselves could not: " The spirit is willing, (says he,) but the flesh is weak." As if he had said,’ I know your hearts, and am satisfied of your affection, and therefore accept your will, and compassionate your weakness.' So benign, so gracious is the friendship of CHRIST, so answerable to our wants, so suitable to our frailties. Happy that man who has a friend to point out to him the perfection of duty, and yet to pardon him in the lapses of his infirmity.

 

 3. The Third privilege of friendship is a sympathy in joy and grief. When a man shall have diffused his life, his self, and his whole concernments so far, that he can weep his sorrows with another's eyes; when he has another heart beside his own, both to share and to support his griefs; and when, if his joy overflow, he can treasure up the overplus in another breast; so that he can (as it were) shake off the solitude of a single nature, by dwelling in two bodies at once, and living by another's breath, this surely is the height, the very spirit and perfection of all human felicities.

 

 It is a true and happy observation of that great philosopher, the LORD VERULAM, that this is the benefit of communication of our minds to others,’ that sorrows by being communicated grow less, and joys greater.' And indeed, sorrow, like a stream, loses itself in many channels; and joy, like a ray of the sun, reflects with greater ardour when it rebounds upon a man from the breast of his friend.

 

 Now friendship is the only scene upon which the glorious truth of this great proposition can be fully acted and drawn forth. Which indeed is a summary description of the sweets of friendship; and the whole life of a friend, in the several parts and instances of it, is only a more diffusive comment upon, and a, plainer explication of, this divine aphorism. Friendship never restrains a pleasure to a single fruition: But such is the royal nature of this quality, that it still expresses itself in the style of Kings, as, We do this or that; and, This is our happiness; and, Such or such a thing belongs to us; when the immediate possession of it is vested only in one. Nothing certainly in nature can so peculiarly gratify the noble dispositions of humanity, as for one man to see another so much himself as to sigh his griefs, and groan his pains, to sing his joys, and (as it.were) to do and feel every thing by sympathy and secret inexpressible communications. Thus it is upon an human account.

 

Let us now see, how CHRIST sustains and makes good this generous quality of a friend, and this we shall find fully set forth to us in Heb. 4: 15, where he is said to be " a merciful High Priest, touched with the feeling of our infirmities;" and that "in all our afflictions he is afflicted."' (Isa. 63:9.) And no doubt, with the same bowels and meltings of affections, with which any tender mother hears and bemoans the groanings of her sick child, does CHRIST hear and sympathize with the spiritual agonies of a soul under desertion, or the pressure of some stinging affliction. It is enough that he understands the exact measures of our strengths and weaknesses; that he " knows our frame,' as it is in Psalm ciii. 14: And that he does not only know, but emphatically that he " remembers also that we are but dust." Observe that signal passage of his loving commiseration; as soon as he had risen from the dead, and met MARY MAGDALENE, in Mark 16: 7, he sends this message of his resurrection by her: " Go tell my disciples and PETER that I am risen." What! was not PETER one of his disciples Why then is he mentioned particularly, as if he were exempted out of their number Why, we know into what a plunge he had newly cast himself by denying his Master; upon occasion of which he was now struggling with all the perplexities and horrors of mind imaginable, lest CItRiST might in like manner deny and disown him before his FATHER, and so repay one denial with another. Hereupon CHRIST particularly applies the comforts of his resurrection to him, as if he had said,’ Tell all my disciples, but be sure especially to tell poor PETER, that I am risen from the dead; and that, notwithstanding his denial of me, the benefits of my resurrection belong to him, as much as to any of the rest. This is the privilege of the saints, to have a companion and supporter in all their miseries, in all the doubtful turnings and doleful passages of their lives. In sum, this happiness does CHRIST vouchsafe to all his, that as a Savior he once suffered for them, and that as a Friend he always " suffers with them."

 

 4. The Fourth privilege of friendship is that which is here specified in the text, a communication of secrets. A bosomsecret and a bosomfriend are usually put together. And this from CHRIST to the soul is not only kindness, but also honor and advancement; it is for him to vouch it one of his privycouncil. Nothing under a jewel is taken into the cabinet. A secret is the apple of our eye; it will bear no touch, nor approach; we use to cover nothing but what we account a rarity. And therefore to communicate a secret to anv one, is to exalt him to one of the royalties of heaven For none knows the secrets of a man's mind, but his GOD,

 

his conscience, and his friend. Neither would any prudent man let such a thing go out of his own heart, had he not another heart beside his own to receive it.

 

Now it was of old a privilege with which God was pleased to honor such as served him at the rate of an extraordinary obedience, thus to admit them to a knowledge of many of his great counsels locked up from the rest of the world. When GOD had designed the destruction of Sodom, the Scripture represents him as unable to conceal that great purpose from ABRAHAM, whom he always treated as his friend and acquaintance; that is, not only with love, but also with intimacy and familiarity, in Gen. 18: 17, "And the LORD said, Shall I hide from ABRAHAM the thing that I go about to do" He thought it a violation of the rights of friendship to reserve his design wholly to himself. And ST. JAMES tells us, in James 2: 23, " that ABRAHAM was called the friend of GOD:" And therefore had a kind of claim to the knowledge of his secrets, and the participation of his counsels. Also in Exodus xxxiii. 11, it is said of GOD, " that he spoke to MOSES as a man speaks to his friend." And that, not only for the familiarity and facility of address, but also for the peculiar communications of his mind. MOSES was with him in the retirements of the mount, received there his dictates, and his private instructions, as his deputy and Viceroy; and when the multitude and congregation of Israel were thundered away, and kept off from an approach to it, he was honored with an intimate and immediate admission. The Priests indeed were taken into a near attendance upon GOD; but still there was a degree of a nearer converse, and the interest of a friend was above the privilege of the highest servant. In Exodus xix. 24, " You shall come up, (says GOD), you and AARON with thee; but let not the Priests and the people break through to come up unto the LORD, lest the LORD break forth upon them." And if we proceed further, we shall still find a continuation of the same privilege: " The secret of the LORD is with them that fear him." (Psalm 25: 14.)

 

 Nothing is to be concealed from the other self. To be a friend, and to be conscious, are terms equivalent. Now, if GOD maintained such intimacies with those whom he loved, under the Law, (which was a dispensation of greater distance,) we may be sure that under the Gospel, (the very nature of which imports condescension and compliance,) there must be the same with much greater advantage. And therefore, when GOD’" had manifested himself in the flesh," how sacredly did he preserve this privilege! How freely did CHRIST unbosom himself to his disciples! In Luke 8: 1O, " Unto you," says he, " it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of Gon; but unto others in parables:" Such shall be permitted to cast an eye into the ark, and to look into the very " holy of polies." Arid again in Matt. 13: 17: " Many Prophets and righteous men have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them." Neither did he treat them with these peculiarities of favor in the extraordinary discoveries of the Gospel only, but all of those revelations of the divine love, in reference to their own personal interest in it. In Rev. 2: 1"l: " To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone,, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knows, saving he that receiveth it." Assurance is a rarity, covered from the inspection of the world: A secret that none can know but GOD, and the person that is blessed with it. It is writ in a private character, not to be road, nor understood, but by the conscience, to which the SPIRIT of GOD has vouchsafed to decypher it. Every believer lives upon an inward provision of comfort, that the world is a stranger to.

 

 5. The fifth advantage of friendship is counsel and advice. A man will sometimes need not only another heart, but also another head besides his own. In solitude, there is not only discomfort, but weakness also. And that saying of the wise man, (Eccles 4:1O,) " Woe to him that is alone," is verified upon none so much as upon the friendless person: When a man shall be perplexed with knots and problems of business and contrary affairs; where the determination is dubious, and both parts of the contrariety seem equally weighty, so that which way soever the choice determines, a man is sure to venture a great concern; how happy then is it to fetch in aid from another person, whose judgment may be greater than my own, and whose concernment is sure not to be less! There are some passages of a man's affairs that would quite break a single understanding: So many intricacies, so many labyrinths, are there in them, that the succors of reason fail, the very force of it being lost in an actual intention scattered upon several clashing_ objects at once; in which case, the interposal of a friend is like the supply of a fresh party to a besieged, yielding city.

 

 Now, CHRIST is not failing in this office of a friend also. For in that illustrious prediction of Isa. 9: 6, amongst the rest of his great titles, he is called " mighty Counsellor." And his counsel is not only sure, but also free. It is not under the Gospel of CHRIST, as under some laws of men, where you must be forced to buy your counsel, and often pay dear for bad advice. No, " He is a light to those that sit in darkness." And no man sees the sun, no man purchases. the light, nor errs if he walks by it. The only price that CHRIST sets upon his counsel is, that we follow it; and that we do that which is best for us to do. He is not only light for us to see with. He is " understanding to the ignorant, and eyes to the blind:" And whosoever has both a faithful and discreet friend, to guide him in the dark, slippery, and dangerous passage of this life, may carry his eyes in another man's head, and yet see never the worse. In 1 Cor. 1: 3O, the Apostle tells us, that CHRIST is made to us, not only " sanctification and redemption," but " wisdom" too: We are his members, and it is but natural, that all the members of the body should be guided by the wisdom of the head.

 

 And, therefore, let every believer comfort himself in this high privilege, that, in the great things that concern his eternal peace, he is not left to stand or fall by the uncertain directions of his, own judgment. No, sad were his condition if he should be so, when he is to encounter an enemy made up of wiles and stratagems, an old serpent, and a long experienced deceiver, and successful at the trade for some thousands of years.

 

 The inequality of the match, between such an one and the subtilest of enemies, would quickly appear by a fatal circumvention: There must be a wisdom from above to overreach and master this hellish wisdom from beneath. And this every sanctified person is sure of in his great Friend, " in whom all the treasures of wisdom dwell:" Treasures that flow out, and are imparted freely, both in direction and assistance, to all that belong to him. He never leaves any of his perplexed, amazed, or bewildered, where the welfare of their souls requires a better judgment than their own, either to guide them in their duty, or to disentangle them from a temptation. Whosoever has CHRIST for his friend, shall be sure of counsel; and whosoever is his own friend, will be sure to obey it.

 

 6. The last and crowning privilege, or rather property of friendship, is constancy. He only is a friend whose friendship lives as long as himself; who ceases to love and to breathe at the same instant. Not that I yet state constancy in such an absurd, senseless, irrational continuance in friendship, as no injuries, or provocations whatsoever, can break off. For there are some injuries that extinguish the very relation between friends. In which case, a man ceases to be a friend, not from any inconstancy in his friendship, but from defect of an object for his friendship to exert itself upon. It is one thing for a father to cease to be a father, by casting off his son; and another for him to cease to be so, by the death of his son. So in friendship, there are some passages of that high and hostile nature, that they constitute and denominate the person guilty of them, an enemy; and if so, how can the other person possibly continue a friend, since friendship essentially requires that it be between two at least; and there can be no friendship where there are not two friends

 

 Nobody is bound to look upon his backbiter or his underminer, his betrayer or his oppressor, as his friend. Nor, indeed, is it possible that he should do so, unless he could alter the constitution and order of things, and establish a new nature and a new morality in the world. For to remain insensible of such provocations, is not constancy but apathy: And therefore they discharge the person so treated from the proper obligations of a friend, though Christianity, I confess, binds him to the duties of a neighbor.

 

 But to give you the true nature and measures of constancy; it is such a stability and firmness of friendship, as overlooks and passes by. all those lesser failures of kindness and respect, that partly through passion, partly through indiscretion, and such other frailties incident to human nature, a man may be sometimes guilty of, and yet still retain the same habitual goodwill, and prevailing propensity of mind to his friend, that he had before. And whose friendship soever is of that strength and duration, as to stand its ground against, and remain unshaken by, such assaults, (which yet are strong enough to shake down and annihilate the friendship of little puny minds,) such an one, I say, has reached all true measures of constancy: His friendship is of a noble make, and a lasting consistency; it resembles marble, and deserves to be written upon it.

 

 But how few tempers in the world are of that magnanimous frame, as to reach the heights of so great a virtue! Many offer at the effects of friendship, but they do not last; they are promising in the beginning, but they fail and jade, and tire in the prosecution, For most people in the world are acted by levity and humor, and by strange and irrational changes. And how often may we meet with those who are one while courteous, civil, and obliging, but, within a small time after, are so supercilious, sharp, fierce, and exceptions, that they are not only short of the true character of friendship, but become the very burdens of society! Such low dispositions, how easily are they discovered, how justly are they despised! But now that we may pass from one contrary to another, CHRIST, who is " the same yesterday, today, and for ever," in his being, is so also in his affection. He is not of the number or nature of those mean pretenders to friendship, who perhaps will love and smile upon you one day, and not so much as know you the next: Many of which sort there are in the world, who are not so much courted outwardly, but that inwardly they are detested much more.

 

 Friendship is a kind of covenant; and most covenants run upon mutual terms and conditions. And therefore, so long as we fulfill the condition on our parts, we may be sure that CHRIST will not fail to fulfill every thing on his. The favor of relations, patrons, and Princes, is uncertain and variable; and the friendship which they take up, upon the accounts of judgment and merit, they most times lay down out of humor. But the friendship of CHRIST has none of those weaknesses, no such hollowness or unsoundness in it. GQ For neither principalities nor powers, things present nor things to come," no, nor all the rage and malice of hell, shall be able to pluck the meanest of CHRIST'S friends out of his bosom.

 

 Now, from the particulars hitherto discoursed of, we may learn these two things:

 

 (1) The excellency and value of friendship. CHRIST, the SON of the most high GOD, the second person in the glorious Trinity, took upon him our nature, that he might give a great instance and example of this virtue; and condescended to be a man, only that he might be a friend. Our Creator, our LORD, and King, he was before; but he would needs come down from all this, and in a sort become our equal, that he might partake of that noble quality that is properly between equals. CHRIST took not upon him flesh and blood, that he might conquer and rule nations, lead armies, or possess palaces; but that he might have the relenting, the tenderness, and the compassion of human nature, which render it properly capable of friendship; and, in a word, that he might have our heart, and we have his. GOD himself sets friendship above all considerations of kindred, as the greatest ground and argument of mutual endearment, in Deut. 15: 6: " If thy brother, the son of thy mother, or thy son, or the wife of thy bosom, or thy friend, which is as thine own soul, entice thee to go and serve other gods, you shall not consent unto him." The emphasis of the expression is very remarkable, it being a gradation or ascent, by several degrees of dearness, to that which is the highest of all. Neither wife nor brother, son nor daughter, though the nearest in cognation, are allowed to stand in competition with a friend; who, if he fully answers the duties of that great relation, is indeed better and more valuable than all of them put together, and may serve instead of them; so that he who has a firm, a worthy, and sincere friend, may want all the rest without missing them. That which lies in a man's bosom, should be dear to him; but that which lies within his heart, ought to be much dearer.

 

 (2.) In the next place, we learn from hence the high advantage of being truly religious. When we have said and done all, it is only the true Christian who is, or can be, sure of a friend; sure of obtaining, sure of keeping him. But as for the friendship of the world, when a man shall have done all he can do to make any one his friend, employed the utmost of his wit and labor, beaten his brains, and emptied his purse, to create an endearment between him and the person whose friendship he desires, he may, in the end, upon all these endeavors and attempts, be forced to write vanity and frustration: For, by them all, he may at last be no more able to get into the other's heart, than he is to thrust his hand into a pillar of brass. The man's affection, amidst all these kindnesses done him, remaining wholly unconcerned and impregnable; just like a rock, which, being plied continually by the waves, still throws them back into the bosom of the sea that sent them, but is not at all moved by any of them.

 

 People at first, while they are young, and raw, and soft natured, are apt to think it an easy thing to gain love, and reckon their own friendship a sure price of another man's But when experience shall have once opened their eyes, and showed them the hardness of most hearts, the hollowness of others, and the baseness and ingratitude of almost all, they will then find, that a friend is the gift of GOD; and that he only, who made hearts, can unite them. For it is he who creates those sympathies, and suitablenesses of nature, that are the foundation of all true friendship, and then, by his providence, brings persons so affected together.

 

It is an expression frequent in Scripture, but infinitely more significant than at first it is usually observed to be; namely, that GOD gave such or such a person grace or favor in another's eyes. As for instance, in Gen.39:21, it is said of JOSEPH, “that the LORD was with him, and gave him favor in the sight of the keeper of the prison." Still it is an invisible hand from heaven, that ties this knot, and mingles hearts and souls, by strange, secret and unaccountable conjunctions.

 

That heart shall surrender itself and its friendship to one man, at first view, which another has, in vain, been laying siege to for many years, by all the repeated acts of kindnesses imaginable.

 

 Nay, so far is friendship from being of any human production, that, unless nature be predisposed to it by its own propensity or inclination, no arts of obligation shall be able to abate the secret dislike of some persons towards others. No friendly offices, no address, no benefits whatsoever, shall ever alter or allay that diabolical rancor, that frets and ferments in some hellish breasts, but that, upon all occasions, it will foam out at its foul mouth in slander and invective, and sometimes bite too in a shrewd turn or a secret blow. This is true and undeniable upon frequent experience; and happy those who can learn it at the cost of other men.

 

 But now, on the contrary, he who will give up his name to CHRIST in faith unfeigned, and a sincere obedience to all his righteous laws, shall be sure to find love for love, and friendship for friendship. The success is certain and infallible, and none ever yet miscarried in the attempt. For CHRIST freely offers his friendship to all, and sets no other rate upon so vast a purchase, but only that we would suffer him to be our friend. You, perhaps, spendest thy precious time in waiting upon some great one, and thy estate in presenting him; and probably, after all, has no other reward, but sometimes to be smiled upon, and always to be smiled at; and when thy greatest occasions shall call for succor and relief, then to be deserted, and cast off, and not known. 

 

 Turn the stream of thy endeavors another way, and bestow but half that hearty attendance upon thy SAVIOR, in the duties of prayer and mortification; study as much to please him who died for thee, as you dost to court and humor thy great patron, who cares not for thee, and you shall make him thy friend for ever; a friend who shall own thee in thy lowest condition, speak comfort to thee in all thy sorrows, counsel thee in all thy doubts, answer all thy wants, and, in a word, never leave thee nor forsake thee. But when all the hopes that you has raised upon the promises, or supposed kindnesses of the great ones of the world shall fail, and upbraid thee to thy face, he shall then take thee into his bosom, embrace, cherish, and support thee; and, as the Psalmist expresses it, " he shall guide thee with his counsel here, and afterwards receive thee into glory."

 

SERMON 6:

 

PREVENTION OF SIN, AN INVALUABLE MERCY. PIITACIIED AT CHRISTCHURCH, OXFORD, Nov. 1O, 1673, 1 SAM. 25: 32, 33

 

 And DAVID paid to ABIGAIL, Blessed be the LORD GOD of Israel, who sent thee this day to meet me. And blessed be thy advice, and blessed be You, who have kept me this day from coming to shed blood, and from avenging myself with my own hand.

 

 THESE words are DAVID's retraction, or laying down a bloody and revengeful resolution; which, for a while, his heart had swelled with, and carried him on with the highest transport of rage to prosecute: A resolution taker up from the sense of a gross indignity passed upon him, in recompence of a signal favor. During his flight before SAUL, there happening a great and solemn festivity, such as the sheep shearings used to be in those Eastern countries, he condescends, by an honorable message, to beg of a rich and great man some small supply for himself and his poor harrassed companions: And, as if the greatness of the asker, and the smallness of the thing asked, had not been sufficient to enforce his request, he adds a commemoration of his own generous and noble usage of the person whom

 

he thus addressed to; showing how he had been a wall and a bulwark to all that belonged to him, a safeguard to his estate, and a keeper of his flocks; and that both from the violence of robbers, and the license of his own soldiers; who could much more easily have carved themselves their own provisions, than so great a spirit stoop so low as to ask them.

 

 But in answer to this, (as nothing is so rude and insolent as a wealthy rustic,) all this his kindness is overlooked, his request rejected, and his person most unworthily railed at.

 

 Such being the nature of some base minds, that they can never do ill turns, but they must double them with ill words. And thus DAVID's messengers are sent back to him, like so many sharks and runagates, only for endeavoring to compliment an ill nature out of itself, and seeking that by petition, which they might have commanded by their sword.

 

 And now, who would not but think, that such ungrateful usage, heightened with such reproachful language, might warrant the justice of revenge; even of such a revenge as now began to boil in the breast of this great warrior For, surely, if any thing can legalize revenge, it should be injuries from an extremely obliged person. But for all this, revenge, we see, is so much the prerogative of the ALMIGHTY, that no consideration can empower men to assume the execution of it in their own case. And therefore, DAVID, by a happy and seasonable pacification, being taken off from acting that bloody tragedy which he was just now entering upon, and so turning his eyes from the baseness of him who had stirred up his revenge, to the goodness of that GOD who had prevented it; he breaks forth into these triumphant praises, expressed in the text " Blessed be the LORD GOD of Israel, who has kept me this day from shedding blood, and from avenging myself with my own hand."

 

 Which words, together with those going before in the same verse, naturally afford us this doctrinal proposition, that prevention of sin is one of the greatest mercies that GOD can vouchsafe a man in this world. The prosecution of which shall he in these two things: 1. To prove the proposition. 2: To apply it.

 

I. And, First, For the proof of it: That transcendant greatness of this sin preventing mercy is demonstrable from these four following considerations:1. Of the condition which the sinner is in, when this mercy is vouchsafed him.

 

1.. Of the principle or fountain from whence this prevention of sin does proceed. 3. Of the hazard a man runs, if the commission of sin be not prevented, whether ever it will come to be pardoned. 4. And Lastly, Of the advantages accruing to the soul from the prevention of sin, above what, can be had from the hare pardon of it, in case it comes to be pardoned.

 

 Of these in their order. And, 1. We are to take an estimate of the greatness of this mercy, from the condition it finds the sinner in, when GOD is pleased to vouchsafe it to him. It finds him in the direct way to death and destruction; and, which is worse, wholly unable to help himself. For he is actually under the power of a temptation, and the sway of an impetuous lust; both hurrying him on to satisfy the cravings of it, by some wicked action. He is possessed and acted by a passion, which, for the present, absolutely overrules him; and so can no more recover himself, than' a bowl, rolling down an hill, stop itself in the midst of its career.

 

It is a maxim in philosophy, " That whatsoever is once in actual motion, will move for ever, if it be not hindered:" So a man, being under the drift of any passion, will still follow the impulse of it, till something interpose, and by a stronger impulse turn him another way: But in this case we can find no principle within him strong enough to counteract that principle. For, if it be any, it must be either, First, The judgment of his reason; or, Secondly, The free choice of his will.

 

jBut from the first of these there can be no help for him in his present condition. For, while a man is engaged in any sinful purpose, through the prevalence of any passion, during the continuance of that passion, he fully approves of whatsoever he is carried on to do in the strength of it; and udges it, under his present circumstances, the best and most rational course that he can take. Thus we see, when JONAS was under the passion of anger, and GOD asked him,

 

Whether he did well to be angry" He answered,’ I, do well to be angry even unto death." (Jones 4: 9.)

 

 And when. SAUL “as under his persecuting fit, what he did appeared to him good and necessary: " I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of JESUS." (Acts 26: 9.) But to go no farther than the text: Do we not think, that while DAVID'S heart was full of his revengeful design, it had blinded and perverted his reason so far, that it struck in wholly with his passion, and told him, that the bloody purpose he was going to execute was just, and becoming such a person, and so dealt with as he was This being so, how is it possible for a man under a passion to receive any succor from his reason, which is made a party in the whole action, and influenced to a present approbation of all the ill things which his passion can suggest This is most certain; and every man may find it by experience, (if he will but impartially reflect upon the motions of his own mind,) that while he is under any passion, he thinks and judges quite otherwise of the objects of that passion, from what he does when he is out of it. Take a man under the transports of a vehement rage or revenge, and he passes a very different judgment upon murder and bloodshed, from what he does when his revenge is over, and the flame of his fury spent. Take a man possessed with a strong and immoderate desire of any thing, and you shall find that the worth and excellency of that thing appears much greater, and more dazzling to the eye of his mind, than it does when that desire is extinguished. So that while passion is upon the wing, and the man fully engaged in the prosecution of some unlawful object, no remedy is to be expected from his reason, which is wholly gained over to judge in favor of it. The fumes of his passion do as really intoxicate and confound his discerning faculty, as the fumes of drink discompose and stupify the brain of a man overcharged with it. When his drink indeed is over, he sees the folly and absurdity,

 

the madness and vileness of those things, which before he acted with full complacency and approbation. Passion is the drunkenness of the mind, and therefore, in its present workings, not controllable by reason; forasmuch as the proper effect of it is, for the time, to supersede the workings of reason.

 

 This principle, therefore, being able to do nothing to the stopping of a man in the eager pursuit of his sin; there remains no other, that can be supposed able to do any thing upon the soul, but that second mentioned, to wit, the choice of his will. But this also is as much disabled from recovering a man fully intent upon the prosecution of any of his lusts, as the former. For all the time that a man is so, he absolutely wills, and is fully pleased with what he is going about. And whatsoever perfectly pleases his will, overpowers it; for it fixes the inclination of it to that one thing which is set before it, and so there is no room for choice. He who is under the power of melancholy, is pleased with his being so: He who is angry, delights in nothing so much as in the venting of his rage; and he who is lustful, places his greatest satisfaction in a slavish following of the dictates of his lust. And so long as the will and the affections are pleased, and gratified in any course of acting, it is impossible for a man, (so far as he is at his own disposal,) not to continue in it; or, by any principle within him, to be diverted or taken off from it.

 

 From all which we see, that when a man has taken up a full purpose of sinning, he is hurried on to it in the strength of all those principles which nature has given him to act by For sin having depraved his judgment, and got possession of his will, there is no other principle left him, by which he can make head against it.

 

Nor is this all; but to these internal dispositions to sin, add the external opportunities concurring with them, and removing all lets and rubs out of the way, and (as it were) making the path of destruction plain before the sinner's face; so that he may run his course freely, and without interruption. Nay, when opportunities shall he so fair, as not only to permit, but even to invite and further a progress in sin; so that the sinner shall set forth, like a ship launched into the wide sea, not only well built and rigged, but also carried on with full wind and tide, to the port or place it is bound for Surely in this case, nothing under heaven can be imagined able to stop or countermand a sinner amidst all these circumstances promoting and pushing on his sinful design. For all that can give force to motion both from within and from without, jointly meet to bear him forward in his present attempt. He presses on, like a horse rushing into the battle, all that should withstand him giving way before him.

 

 Now under this deplorable necessity of ruin and destruction does GOD’s preventing grace find every sinner, when it " snatches him like a brand out of the fire," and steps in between the purpose and the commission of his sin.’ It finds him going on resolutely in the high and broad way to perdition; which yet his perverted reason tells him is right, and his will pleasant: And therefore he has no power of himself to leave or turn out of it; but he is ruined jocundly and pleasantly, and damned according to his heart's desire. And can there be a more wretched spectacle of misery, than a' man in such a condition A man pleasing and destroying himself together; a man (as it were) doing violence to' damnation, and taking hell by force So that when the preventing goodness of GOD reaches out its arm, and pulls him out of this fatal path, it does by main force even wrest him from himself, and save him as it were against his will.

 

 But neither is this his total inability to recover or relieve himself the worst of his condition; but,’ which is yet much worse, it puts him into a state of actual hostility against, and defiance of that almighty GOD, from whom alone, in this helpless and forlorn condition, he is capable of receiving help. For surely, while a man is going on in a full purpose of sin, he is trampling upon the law, spitting in the face of Heaven, and provoking his Maker in the highest manner; so that none is or can be so much concerned as God himself, to destroy and cutoff such an one, and to vindicate the honor of his great name, by striking him dead in his rebellion.

 

 2. And this brings us to the Second thing proposed, which was to show, What is the fountain or impulsive cause of this prevention of sin. It is perfectly free grace. A man at best, upon all principles of divinity, and sound philosophy, is incapable of meriting any thing from GOD. But surely, while he is under the dominion of sin, and engaged in a full design and purpose to commit it, it is not imaginable what can be found in him to oblige the divine grace in his behalf. For he is in high and actual rebellion against the only Giver of such grace. And therefore it must needs flow from a redundant, unaccountablefulness of compassion; showing mercy, because it will show mercy; from a compassion, which is and must be its own reason, and can have no argument for its exercise, but itself. No man in. the strength of the first grace, can merit the second, (as some fondly speak,) unless a beggar, by receiving one alms, can be said to merit another. It is not from what a man is, or what he has done; from any virtue or excellency, any preceding worth or desert in him, that GOD is induced thus to interpose between him and ruin, and so stop him in his full career to damnation. No, says GOD, in Ezek. 16: 6,’6 When I passed by, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee, Live; yea, I said unto thee, when you wast in thy blood, Live."/ The SPIRIT of GOD speaks this great truth to the hearts of men with emphasis and repetition, knowing what an aptness there is in them to oppose it. GOD sees a man wallowing in his native filth and impurity, delivered over as an absolute captive to sin, polluted with its guilt, and enslaved by its power; and in this most loathsome condition fixes upon him as an object of his distinguishing mercy. And to show yet farther; that the actings of this mercy, in the work of prevention, are entirely free; do we not sometimes see, in persons of equal guilt and demerit, and so equal progress and advance in the ways of sin; some of them maturely diverted, and taken off, and others permitted to go on without check or control, till they finish a sinful course in final perdition So "true is it, that if things were cast upon this issue, that GOD should never prevent sin till something in man deserved it, the best of men would fall into sin, continue in sin, and sin on for ever. And thus much for the Second thing proposed, which was• to show, What was the principle, or fountain, from whence this prevention of sin does proceed.

 

 3. Come we now to the Third proof of the greatness of this preventing mercy, taken from the hazard a man runs, if the commission of sin be not prevented, whether ever it will come to be pardoned. In order to the clearing of which, I shall lay down these two considerations:

 

 (1) That if sin be not thus prevented, it will certainly be committed; and the reason is, because, on the sinner's part, there will be always a strong inclination to sin. So that, if other things concur, and providence cuts not off the opportunity, the act of sin must needs follow. For an active principle, seconded with the opportunities of action, will infallibly exert itself.

 

 (2.) The other consideration is, that in every sin deliberately committed, there are (generally speaking) many more degrees of probability, that that sin will never cone to be pardoned, than that it will.

 

And this shall be made appear upon these three following accounts:

 

 [1.] Because every commission of sin introduces into the soul a certain degree of hardness, and an aptness to continue in that sin. It is a known maxim, that it is much more difficult to throw out, than not to let in. Every degree of entrance, is a degree of possession; sin taken into the soul, is like a liquor poured into a vessel; so much of it as it fills, it also seasons. The touch and tincture go together. So that although the body of. the liquor should be poured out again, yet still it leaves that tang behind it, which makes the vessel fitter for that, than for any other. In like manner, every act of sin strangely transforms and works over the soul to its own likeness. Sin in this being to the soul, like fire to combustible matter; it assimilates, before it destroys it.

 

 [2] A Second reason is, because every commission of sin imprints upon the soul a further disposition and proneness to sin: As the second, third, and fourth degrees of heat are more easily introduced, than the first. Every one is both a preparative and a step to the next. Drinking both quenches the present thirst, and provokes it for the future. When the soul is beaten from its first station', and the mounds and outworks of virtue are once broken down, it becomes quite another thing from what it was before. In one single eating of the forbidden fruit, when the act is over, yet the relish remains; and the remembrance of the first repast, is an easy allurement to the second. One visit is enough to begin an acquaintance; and this point is gained by it, that when the visitant comes again, he is no more a stranger.

 

 [3.] The Third and grand reason is, because the only thing that can lead the sinner to pardon, which is repentance, is not in the sinner's power. And he, who goes about the work, will find it so. It is the gift of GOD; and though GOD has certainly promised forgiveness of sin to every one who truly repents, yet he has not promised to any one to give him grace to repent. This is the sinner's hard lot; that thee same thing which makes him need repentance, makes him also in danger of not obtaining it. For it provokes and offends that HOLY SPIRIT, which alone can bestow his grace. As the same treason which puts a traitor in need of his Prince's mercy, is a great and just provocation to his Prince to deny him.

 

 Now, let these three things be put together: [1.] That every commission of sin, in some degree, hardens the soul in that sin: [f2.] That every commission of sin disposes the soul to proceed further in sin: And, [3] That to repent, and turn from sin, (without which pardon is impossible,) is not in the sinner's power; and then, I suppose, there cannot but appear a greater likelihood, that a sin, once committed, will, in the issue, not be pardoned, than that it will. To all which, add the confirmation of general experience, and the real event of things, that where one man ever comes to repent, a hundred, I might say a thousand, end their days in final impenitence.

 

 All which considered, surely there cannot need a more pregnant argument of the greatness of this preventing mercy; if it did no more than this, that his grand, immortal concern, more valuable to him than ten thousand worlds, is not thrown upon a critical point; that he is not brought to his last stake; that he is rescued from the first descents into hell, and the high probabilities of damnation.

 

 For, whatsoever the issue proves, it is certainly a miserable thing to be forced to cast lots for one's life; yet in every sin a man does the same for eternity. And therefore, let the boldest sinner take this one consideration along with him, when he is going to sin, that whether the sin he is about to act ever comes to be pardoned or no; yet, as soon as it is acted, it quite turns the balance, puts his salvation upon the venture, leaves him but one cast for all; and, which is yet more dreadful, makes it ten to one odds against him.

 

 But, let us now alter the state of the matter so as to leave no doubt in the case: But suppose that the sin, which upon nonprevention comes to be committed, comes also to be repented of, and consequently to be pardoned.

 

 4. Yet in the Fourth and last place, the greatness of this preventing mercy is eminently proved from those advantages accruing to the soul, from the prevention of sin, above what can be had from the bare pardon of it. If innocence be preferable to repentance, and to be clean be more desirable than to be cleansed; then surely prevention of sin ought to have the precedence of its pardon. For, so much of prevention, so much of innocence. There are indeed various degrees of it; and GOD in his infinite wisdom does not deal forth the same measure of his preventing mercy to all. Sometimes he may suffer the soul but just to, begin the sinful production, in reflecting upon a sin suggested by the imagination, with some complacency and delight; which, in the Apostle's phrase, is to conceive

 

sin; and then, in these early, imperfect beginnings, God perhaps may presently dash and extinguish it. Or, possibly, he may permit the sinful conception to receive life and form, by passing into a purpose of committing it; and then he may make it prove abortive, by stifling it before ever it comes to the birth. Or, perhaps, GOD may think fit to let it come even to the birth, by some strong endeavors to commit it; and yet then deny it strength to bring forth; so that it never comes into actual commission. Or, Lastly, GOD may suffer it to be born, and see the world, by permitting the endeavor of sin to pass into the commision of it. And this is the last fatal step but one; which is by frequent repetition of the sinful act, to continue and persist in it, till at length it settles into a fixed, confirmed habit of sin, which being properly that which the Apostle calls " the finishing of sin," ends certainly in death; death, not only as to merit, but also as to actual infliction.

 

Now peradventure in this whole progress,' preventing grace may sometimes come in to the poor sinner's help but at the " last hour of the day;" and having suffered him to run all the former risk and maze of sin, and to descend so many steps downwards to the black regions of death, as, first, from the bare thought and imagination of sin, to look upon it with some beginnings of appetite and delight; from thence to purpose and intend it; and from intending to endeavor it; and from endeavoring actually to commit it; and having committed it, perhaps for some time to continue in it. And then (I say) after all this, God may turn the fatal stream, and by a mighty grace interrupt its course, and keep it from. passing into a settled habit, and so hinder the absolute completion of sin in final obduracy.

 

 Certain it is, that wheresoever it pleases God to stop the sinner on this side hell, how far soever he has been advanced in his way towards it, it is a vast, ineffable mercy; a mercy as great as life from the dead, and salvation to a man tottering with horror upon the very edge and brink of destruction. But if, more than all this, GOD shall be pleased by an early grace to prevent sin so soon, as to keep the soul in tile virginity of its first innocence, not tainted with the desires, and much less deflowered with the formed purpose of any thing vile and sinful: What an infinite goodness is this! It is not a converting, but a crowning grace; such an one as irradiates, and puts a circle of glory about the head of him upon whom it descends: It is the HOLY GHOST coming down upon him " in the form of a dove;" and setting him triumphant above the necessity of tears and sorrow, mourning and repentance, the sad aftergames of a lost innocence.

 

And thus much for the advantageous effects of preventing, above those of pardoning grace; which was the fourth and last argument brought for the proof of the proposition.

 

 II. Pass we now to the next general thing proposed for the prosecution of it; namely, Secondly, Its application Which, from the foregoing discourse, may afford us several deductions, but chiefly by way of information, in these three particulars.

 

 1. This may convince us, how vastly greater a pleasure is consequent upon the forbearance of sin, than can possibly accompany the commission of it; and, how much higher a satisfaction is to be found from a conquered, than from a conquering passion. For the proof of which, we need look no farther than the great example here before us. Revenge is certainly the most luscious morsel that the Devil can put into the sinner's mouth. But, do we think that DAVID could have found half that pleasure in the execution of his revenge, that he expresses here upon the disappointment of it Possibly it might have pleased him in the present heat and hurry of his rage, but must have displeased him infinitely more in the cool, sedate reflections of his mind. For, sin can please no longer, than for that pitiful space of time while it is committing; and surely the present pleasure of a sinful act, is a poor countervail for the bitterness of the review, which begins where the action ends, and lasts for ever. There is no ill thing which a mail does in his passion, but his memory will be revenged on hint for it afterwards.

 

 All pleasure springing from a gratified passion, as most of the pleasure of sin does, must needs determine with that passion: It is short, violent, and fallacious; and as soon as the imagination is disabused, will certainly be at an end. And therefore DES CARTES prescribes excellently well for the regulation of the passions, viz. That a man should fix and forearm his mind with this settled persuasion, that, during that commotion of his blood and spirits, in which passion properly consists, whatsoever is offered to his imagination in favor of it, tends only to deceive his reason It is a real trepan upon it; feeding it with colors and appearances, instead of arguments; and driving the very same bargain which JACOB did with ESAU, " a mess of pottage for a birthright," a present repast for a perpetuity.

 

 2. We have here a sure unfailing criterion, by which every man may discover and find out the gracious or ungracious disposition of his own heart. The temper of every man is to be judged of from the thing he most esteems, and the object of his esteem may be measured by the prime object of his thanks. What is it, that opens thy mouth in praises, that fills thy heart, and lifts up thy hands in grateful acknowledgments to thy great Creator and Preserver Is it, that thy bags and thy barns are full, that you have escaped this sickness or that danger Alas, God may have done all this for thee in anger! All this fair sunshine may have been only to harden thee in thy sins. He may have given thee riches and honor, health and power, with a curse; and, if so, it will be found but a poor comfort, to have had never so great a share of GOD's bounty without his blessing.

 

 But has he at any time kept thee from thy sin Stopped thee in the prosecution of thy lust Defeated the malicious arts and stratagems of thy mortal enemy, the tempter And does not the sense of this move and affect thy heart more than all the former instances of temporal prosperity, which are but (as it were) the promiscuous scatterings of his common providence, while these are the distinguishing kindnesses of his special grace

 

A truly pious mind has certainly another kind of relish and taste of these things; and, if it receives a temporal blessing with gratitude, it receives a spiritual one with ecstacy and transport. DAVID, an heroic instance of such a temper, overlooks the rich and seasonable present of ABIGAIL, though pressed with hunger and travel; but her advice, which disarmed his rage, and calmed his revenge, draws forth those high and affectionate gratulations from him: " Blessed be thy advice, and blessed be You, who have kept me this day from shedding blood, and avenging myself with my own hand." These were his joyful and glorious trophies; not that he triumphed over his enemy, but that he insulted over his revenge; that he escaped from himself, and was delivered from his own fury. And whosoever has any thing of DAVID's piety, will be perpetually plying the throne of grace with such like acknowledgments, as, " Blessed be that Providence, which delivered me from such a lewd company, and such a vicious acquaintance, which was the bane of such and such a person. And, blessed be that GOD, who cast rubs, and stops, and hindrances in my way, when I was attempting the commission of such or such a sin; who took me out of such a course of life, such a place, or such an employment, which was a continual snare and temptation to me. And, blessed be such a Preacher, and such a friend, whom God made use of to speak a word in season to my wicked heart, and so turned me out of the paths of death and destruction, and saved me in spite of the world, the Devil and myself."

 

 These are such things as a man shall remember with joy upon his deathbed; such as shall cheer and warm his heart even in that last and bitter agony, when many from the very bottom of their souls shall wish that they had never been rich, or great, or powerful; and reflect with anguish and remorse upon those splendid occasions of sin, which served them for little, but to heighten their guilt, and at best to enflame their accounts, at that great tribunal which they are going to appear before.

 

 3. In the Third and last place, we learn from hence the great reasonableness of not only a contented, but also a thankful acquiescence in any condition, and under the severest passages of Providence, which can possibly befall us,: Since there is none of all these but may be the instrument of preventing grace in the hands of a merciful GOD, to keep us from those courses which would otherwise assuredly end in our confusion. This is most certain, that there is no enjoyment which the nature of man is either desirous or capable of, but may be to him a direct inducement to sin, and consequently is big with mischief, and carries death in the bowels of it. But to make the assertion more particular, and thereby more convincing, let us take an account of it with reference to the three most valued enjoyments of this life: (1) Health. (2.) Reputation: And, (3.) Wealth.

 

 (1.) And First, For Health. Has GOD made a breach upon that Perhaps he is building up thy soul upon the ruins of" thy body. Has he bereaved thee of the use and vigor of thy limbs Possibly he saw that otherwise they would have been the instruments of thy lusts, and the active ministers of thy debaucheries. Perhaps thy languishing upon thy bed, has kept thee from rotting in a gaol, or in a worse place. GOD saw it necessary by such mortifications to quench the boilings of a furious, overflowing appetite, and the boundless rage of an insatiable intemperance; to make the weakness of the flesh the physic and restorative of the spirit; and, in a word, rather to save thee, diseased, sickly and deformed, than to let strength, health, and beauty drive thee headlong (as they have done many thousands) into eternal destruction.

 

 (2.) Has GOD in his providence thought fit to drop a blot upon thy name, and to blast thy reputation He saw perhaps that the breath of popular air was grown infectious, and would have derived a contagion upon thy better part. Pride and vainglory had mounted thee too high, and therefore it was necessary for mercy to take thee down, to prevent a greater fall. " A good name is," indeed, " better than life;" but a sound mind is better than both.

 

 Praise and applause had swelled thee to a proportion ready to burst; it had vitiated all thy spiritual appetites, and brought thee to feed upon the air, and to surfeit upon the wind, and, in a word, to starve thy soul only to pamper thy imagination. And now, if GOD makes use of some poignant disgrace, to prick this enormous bladder, and to let out the poisonous vapour, is not the mercy greater than the severity of the cure “Cover them with shame," says the Psalmist, " that they may seek thy name." Fame and glory transport a man out himself; and, like a violent wind, though it may bear him up for a while, yet it will be sure to let him fall at last: It makes the mind loose and garish, scatters the spirits, and leaves a kind of dissolution upon all the faculties: Whereas shame, on the contrary, (as all grief does,) naturally contracts and unites, and thereby fortifies the spirits, and fixes the ramblings of fancy, and so reduces and gathers the man into himself. This is the sovereign effect of a bitter potion, administered by a wise and merciful hand: And what hurt can there be in all the slanders, obloquies and disgraces of this world, if they are but the arts and methods of Providence to shame us into the glories of the next But then,

 

 3. And Lastly, Has GOD thought fit to cast thy lot amongst the poor of this world, and that either by denying bee any share of the plenties of this life, (which is something grievous,) or by taking them away, which is much more so Yet still all this may be but the effect of preventing mercy. For so much mischief as riches have done, and may do to the souls of men, so much mercy may there be in taking them away. For, does not the wisest of men, next our SAVIOR, tell us of " riches kept to the hurt of the owners of them" (Eccles. 5: 13.) And does not our SAVIOR himself speak of the intolerable difficulty, which they cause in men's passage to heaven Do they not make " the narrow way" much narrower; and contract " the gate which leads to life" to the straitness of " a needle's eye"

 

 And now, if God will fit thee for this passage, by taking off thy load, and emptying thy bags, and so suit the narrowness of thy fortune to the narrowness of the way you art to pass, is there any thing but mercy in all this Nay, are not the riches of his mercy conspicuous in the poverty of thy condition

 

You who repinest at the plenty and splendor of thy neighbor, at the greatness of his incomes, and magnificence of his retinue; consider what are frequently the dismal consequences of all this, and you wilt have little cause to envy this gaudy great one, or to wish thyself in his room.

 

 For do we not often hear of this or that young heir newly come to his father's vast estate A happy man, no doubt! But does not the town presently ring of his debaucheries Are not his riches and his lewdnesses talked of together And the odiousness of the one, heightened and set off by the greatness of the other Are not his oaths, his riots, and other villanies, reckoned by as many thousands as his estate

 

 Now consider, had this grand debaucher, this glistering monster, been born to thy poverty, he could not have contracted such a clamorous guilt, he could not have been so bad: Nor, perhaps, had thy birth instated thee in the same wealth and greatness, wouldest you have been at all better. This God foresaw and knew in the ordering both of his and thy condition: And which of the two, can we think, is the greatest debtor to his preventing mercy Lordly sins require lordly estates to support them: And where Providence denies the latter, it cuts off all temptation to the former.

 

 And thus I have shown by particular instances, what cause men to have acquiesce in, and submit to the harshest dispensations that Providence can measure out to them in this life; and with what satisfaction, or rather gratitude, that ought to be endured, by which the greatest of mischiefs is prevented. The great Physician of souls, some times, cannot cure, without cutting us. Sin has festered inwardly, and he must lance the imposthume, to let out death with the suppuration. He who ties a madman's hands, or takes away his sword, loves his person, while he disarms his frenzy. And whether by health or sickness, honor or disgrace, wealth or poverty, life or death, mercy is still contriving, acting, and carrying on the spiritual good of all those who love GOD, and are loved by him.